


Down Pour

by Teatrichor



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Angst, F/F, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5123420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teatrichor/pseuds/Teatrichor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat hated the rain. He hated it because it scolded him in his home, the home he didn't have, and chilled his body. He had no resistance from the rain, no cover, it just trickled on and snickered at him.</p>
<p>Karkat also had no resistance to what came with the rain. He had no resistance to his future.</p>
<p>(Belongstohussieyo)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cloudburst

**Author's Note:**

> tHANK YOU FOR READING MY STORY AHSHAHS I'm the author who gives really fucking useless notes before you read the actual story thats me hey guys im the useless author- okAY IM DONE SORRY READ THIS TRASH THANK YOU HAHA

The very tell-tale breezes of Spring tickled trees silly. The Sun beat down on this troll like Hell fire, something he had come to reason with after giving up the debating of seasons last year when December had hit him like a bus, leaving snow piled so high he was forced to skip work for a whole week should it ever hoped to melt. He had also come to appreciate the warm weather, at least for a little while. That was until he decided that every sweater and jacket he owned was rendered useless against the sky above, a sweat breaking out should he even take his chances in the sunlight. Sometimes, it just flat out made him feel like a vampire.

Spring always had its tendencies of warm weather, but times came hard when Mother Nature took its toll and released a years worth at least of water supply onto the city. Those were the days Karkat didn’t mind the weather all too bad, at least when he was inside during it. The gentle pitter patter of the rain along his windows and the scurry of raindrops sprinting down relaxed him. When he was outside in the rain, he truly just hated it.

It seemed that today happened to be one of those days.

Down pour. It was chaotic. The only credit he gave to the weather man was that he really knew how to cram a pole a mile up his ass, spout about Sunny with a chance of Spring showers, and remind Karkat that he was to be sprouting wings and turning into the fairy princess he'd always known he could be. With a fit of curses spewing mildly from his chilled lips, he ducked into a lit up store and out of the pelting rain, one he’d seen before but had never bothered to peek inside. The chime of the door bell reflected exactly the opposite of his mood and Karkat soon found a scowl resting sinister on his face. He was soaking wet, but the others sifting between shelves seemed not to notice, as if they had all been in the same boat and it was nothing knew. The clerk offered a hello, but he paid them no notice. Today was not the best of days.

It took a moment in the pleasant music from the shop for him to trudge forward, and holy shit did one step make him feel like led. With water sloshing chills up his foot cast aside, he found himself trudging to a very isolated booth located deep in the back of the library tucked behind the occasional rows. A small coffee shop set vacant, not a single customer but the staff seemingly alert. There was the shuffling of feet, raindrops pattering on the window his booth was installed in the corner near, and the occasional steaming of a pot, but other than that there carried a pleasant silence throughout the shop. There was that same ting of a bell that sent Karkat’s nerves up a stage, but he brushed it off with the sense of ice trickling over his spine, offering a shiver from the troll. The warmth from the coffee nearby did nothing to warm the tattered jacket over his shoulders, nor dry him, and he decided quickly that it’d be best to peel it off, though as he slid his arm out of one worn-down sleeve, the air conditioning had begged to differ and sent shivers through his skin in waves, much like pins jabbing into your skin.

Plop. A droplet of water was sent askew as he dropped the garbage of a jacket heavily onto the seat beside him, now stuck in a T-shirt that stuck uncomfortably to his body with moisture, only allowing the breeze of the air conditioning to whisk through the fabric like it might as well have had holes in it, only adding to the chill. He let his gaze drift up towards the coffee station, considering for a moment to purchase one, but the idea was long forgotten as soon as it had come. He didn’t have enough money, and pay day came Sunday. It was fucking Tuesday. Karkat wasn’t sure what he’d do when he tried to get home. His “home” had probably been destroyed. His home consisted of multiple tossed clothing articles he’d gathered from the Good Will he normally nested out by where they tossed items broken by children or clothes too old to sell. They were aware of his presence and actually acknowledged his presence and sometimes gave him clothes. 

There was a grinch of an elderly woman there who had a scowl like none other, but she was diagnosed with Cancer. It pinched his heart that she made the best of it at a place that helped others, even if she didn’t like others that much. People called her Snowy, or Snowman from her icy personality. It suited her. There was a very spiffy couple there, one that happened to have some Australian tone or something that set him off, and the other who sported a set of frames that could jab somebody’s eyes out. The two were Dirk and Jake, and Karkat hated them with a passion that burned brighter than the Green Sun. Another girl worked there with them that had abnormally white hair that she always tended to dye, but the colors were either black, white, or green. She was seemingly obsessed with Trolls and.. was surprisingly polite. Her name was Calliope, but she preferred some kind of alternate name (That was the exact same thing as her other name) in quoting of her “Trollsona,” Callie Opeeee. He also hated her. Lukewarm. Ish. Okay, if he was being honest with himself, she was probably the least of the group that he hated, but he had trouble expressing his ease at how easy it was to talk to her and eventually just started arguments that always led to her in tears. Callie was a very sensitive person, and he’d learned that the hard way.

Somehow, he had managed to befriend them all and sometimes was invited to their houses to sleep occasionally, should a storm be coming or things like that. He appreciated them more than he could put into words in the end though and would take a bullet for any of them should it come down to it. There was a growing silence in the shop, the rain taking his attention entirely until he noticed that his gaze was left to linger towards the coffee shop where a very intimidated-looking girl was blinking at him. Shit. He was staring. “What-?? I- Shit.” He let the words fall out before he could process them and cast his gaze away hastily. The woman, from the corner of his eye, gave a defeated sigh (Assumedly from relief) and returned to her work, sending the suspicious glance to him infrequently. Golden orbs of the troll had been set on another contender in the growing line of Karkat-incidental-glare-down-targets, though neither of them had taken note of his gaze yet, the neither of them retaining to the cashier of whom had offered him the greeting upon entrance and an anonymous blonde of which suspiciously toted a pair of aviators atop his nose. It reminded him momentarily of Dirk, and he took a second to question what the fuck was up currently with these hipster tyrants and their shades. Seriously, should he see one more pair of sunglasses inside a building being bluntly unnecessary, he will immediately take for them rocketing to the top of his shit list faster than Neil Armstrong on his fuckall vacation to the moon.

The blonde offered a nod and turned away, and Karkat let the attention sent towards the other to hang about, if just for an instant longer. There was a lean to the boy as he strutted some kind of hipster-doo-dad where you jammed your hands into your pockets and gave a very odd curve to your waist as you strode. It sent some kind of “intimidation” vibe apparently, though Karkat felt nothing of that. Actually, to ones shock, he felt curiosity. It wasn’t that same boiling wrath—Okay, maybe a little, but that was the minor to the major, here, that he normally felt when he looked at Dirk, though it may have been because he generally knew Dirk to be an asshole, whereas he didn’t even know this persons name. It took a moment, but his attention was forcefully divided to the small rack of vinyl records that the bespectacled boy was flicking through, that he took notice that this store actually held those, tough he supposed it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise. Some libraries sold movies, even. It was a small town, after all.

He found his mind lingering towards a movie once that he’d watched, A Star Is Born, from 1854 where Norman Maine struggled with her career in acting from the faults of Esther Blodgett, an alcohol-addicted problem that stood in the way of Miss Maine’s lifetime goals and future. The movie was a real heart puller that yanked on his arm and asked him what the fuck he was doing. Wait, what?

Only now had he realized that he’d allowed himself to completely loose track of his actions, resulting in the blonde standing directly in front of him, tugging at his arm lightly and inquiring just that.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

A silence followed as Karkat readjusted himself to reality, blinking up into those abyssal frames perked atop his face with rather golden orbs in comparison.

“Don’t touch me,” he started off, tugging his arm away, “and what the fuck is it that YOU’RE doing?” he finished, allowing his eyes to linger over the other for a moment. He was tall. Really tall. But that may have been the fact that Karkat found almost anyone, and that meant everyone, larger than him. It just happened to be that Karkat was naturally small and the world was abnormally… big.

“You’ve been staring at me like a creep for at least ten minutes.” The boy gave a very monotone blink down to the troll. Karkat felt like a sweat was coming on, but chances were high that it was a drop of water trickling down his spine, causing him to shiver.

“I was looking at.. The records. Clearly.” Perfect retort, Karkat. Fucking grade A. He gave a roll of his eyes, more towards himself, though the other standing above him seemed to take this offensively and raised his brow.

“What happened?” The boy took a seat across from the troll, setting his elbows up onto the table and resting his chin onto his laced fingers.

“Should I feel honored that a stranger just invited themselves to sit down with me and dig into my business or feel mortally disgusted? Because I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.”

“Well I originally thought I would have to punch somebody and make a scene for creepin’ on me, but you’re a lot smaller than I originally thought and, correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you need a jacket.” The upturn of the corner of his lips was the only sign that he may have been joking, but Karkat couldn’t decipher whether or not he was sincere. But then again, unless he was some shit-eating hipster aspirant, he wouldn’t have had a very good reason to be talking to Karkat in the first place. The dust settled between them as Karkat allowed his eyes to drift over the other, representing something of a judgmental once-over.

“Sure, I’m cold, but who isn’t? It’s pouring outside and I’m certain I wasn’t the only one who hauled my ass in here soaking with a pound or thousand of water, so why give the critique to me?” He raised a suspicious brow at the blonde across from him. Seriously, at moments like these, he just wanted to be alone, AWAY from people like him.

“Well if you were listening, I already mentioned that you were staring.. In my general direction. But,” he raised his hands indignantly. “if you want me to go that bad, I’ll leave.” And he stood, adjusting the scarf around his neck and tossing a single glance back to his seat before he strode away. Karkat shot a pointed look at his back as he went. Something looked out of place about him.

And then it hit him.

Karkat slammed his hands onto the table and leaned up, peering over to the other side at the beige sweater the boy had been wearing. How the hell did he slip that off? He had a scarf on and everything, and Karkat was watching him the whole time! Did he do it before-hand?

“Fucking hell..” The troll muttered to himself, extending his small arms and swatting at the hipster attire until it touched his fingertips and eventually was taken into his palms. He blinked at it, because it was shockingly soft compared to the sticky shirt he wore now. It was also clean, again better compared to the goodwill shirt he’d been sporting for at least a week now. So he tossed it over his arm and turned, striding forward towards the bathrooms. It came as quite a relief to get the rain-infected shirt off and took an unnecessary amount of paper towels to get the water that came with the T-Shirt off, but slipping the sweater over his head onto the chilled skin of his torso felt like a blanket over him. It might as well have been, seeing that the sweater was huge on his small frame. How tall was that guy, anyway? He rolled his eyes and tucked the sleeves up above the forearm, giving himself a quick glance towards the mirror and then exiting the bathroom. It kind of made him feel bubbly somewhere deep in his chest, the idea that people would give things away for the sake of another’s happiness, despite Karkat being a little bitch baby about it. He didn’t even know the guy, and speaking of..

Karkat gazed out of the large windows in the front near the door he’d entered in, curiously searching for that same blonde hair and shades from before. It took only a moment of eye squinting to confirm it, but he noticed.

It had stopped raining.


	2. Recording Coffee Machines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUpP02enWgU

Dave Strider had no idea what he was doing. It was raining and he saw it and something was just so compelling about the way the rain left trails along his apartment windows that he couldn’t resist it and had his camera out in moments, sitting in the balcony of his apartment. It wasn’t enough. He had taken just so many photos of the heights that it came as a sickening plummet when he dared look at it. How he had managed to even lug the tripod and camera out for this shit was something that maybe he’d like to know too.

It took little to no time for his brother to realize that Dave hated the heights of the apartment only a month into the residence there at the new town. His brother had also taken to realizing Dave hated this town. And it was true; Dave hated the home outside of Texas. He hated moving to New York because it was loud. It was loud and people were ass holes and the streets were crowded and god was it hard to breathe when he stepped outside.

The only time he could even vaguely appreciate it was the rain.

God, did he love the rain in New York. The world seemed to practically die, and whether that was a good thing or not he didn’t really care. Everyone in the vicinity seemed to croon back into their hidings like vampires in the rising Sun, burning at the touch like they were hypersensitive to the acidic compounds in the rain, the little it had. Dave on the other hand had found the rain to be many of the lovely feats of such an awful place. It hardly rained in Texas and it was too muddy to bring his camera out, whether it was handheld or tripod and all. Times like these were when he went out, a rare thing of the little times he stepped outside.

And so here he stood, umbrella over his shoulders as he haunted outside a very dainty shop, a blunt title reading “Library” positioned atop the glass windows stretching along the sides of the doors, as if peering inside at the shelves wasn’t enough to get the big idea. The useful part of the sign was the part that reminded you there was coffee inside, the labels positioned neatly underneath the big idea. Honestly, he figured the coffee would be the exciting part. The Strider was fairly sure he couldn’t feel his toes, anyways, and he had snapped more than enough photos of the shop than he was sure he needed. With the light from the shop coming off as a gladly accepted invitation, he tugged on one of the large wooden doors felt it lurch open with a slight tumble offered from the boy, but it opened easy after that to his relief. He was greeted with warm air from the inside, mostly from what he assumed to be the coffee. Damn, that coffee sounded so good right now.

Color him shocked but literally seconds into the bookstore (Those few seconds took to analyzing the immediate rows of vertical shelving as you walked in, the desk positioned to the left of the shelves at a corner that led off in two ways, one going to the back towards the coffee and from what he assumed to be a group of chairs sitting idly near windows in the other corner and the other branching towards another section lined with more shelves and a small, and he meant small, area of jewelry and trinkets. Possibly a gift shop,) [authors note: that was my way of defining the shop and wow I did that terribly oooooops] before his attention went from coffee to music. Yes, they held records, only the oldest and the best.

He strode over to the register desk in minimal long strides, pressing his palms against the same wooden material of the door and offering an inviting smile. Despite his hatred for being outdoors in general, he couldn’t help himself feeling just a little giddy getting out and finding some eventful things to his pleasure. The cashier offered a formal customer-attendee greeting before Dave spilled his mixing brew of questions on his mind.

“So about those records. Are they for show, or is it open for buying?”

“Those are available to visitors, yes.” He nodded, casting a glance over.

“And are they for borrow or can I purchase them because honest to God, I was not kidding, I will buy each and every one of those and leave pennies as my trademark.” He raised a brow at the cashier, his face deadpanned onto something beyond imaginable levels of serious. Strider’s did not fuck around when they wanted something—Okay, maybe just a little, but he was serious this time. He wanted that god damn salvation to rip him from his nights nuzzled in mounds of blankets on the couch in the silence scrolling Tumblr.

He was so fucking sick of the silence.

The cashier just nodded and mentioned where to find the prices before letting him turn away to the records. It took a moment for him to make his way over and less than that if it was possible to have his grubby fingers flicking through the titles. God, old bands were the shit because nobody knew a fuckin’ thing about them and it made him so ironic to mention unfamiliar media artists to unknowing victims to his Strider ways and god he was so ironic and shit maybe he just really liked old music?

But no, it was ironic.

His trailing of mind set him off focus from the actual titles he flicked through, which may or may not have allowed his senses to range themselves, which may or may not again have saved him from wandering eyes. Beneath the aviators, his orbs flicked to gaze at a darkly haired boy from the farthest corner of the shop, stationed on the booth installed up in the corner near a window. He took quick note that he was a troll, the vibrant colors of his horns prodding out from his mass of dark tendrils. The size, even from here Dave could note of them, was very small and made his candy-corn-horn suspicions practically confirmable. There was no way to deny that a Troll’s horns would taste like candy corn. Not a doubt in his mind.

What pulled him from his reverie was the fact that the other didn’t. What he meant by that was simply that he’d only now realized the boy wasn’t exactly staring at him. Well, yes, his gaze was locked rather firmly on something in the range of his space, but it was like the Troll was seeing right through him. Dave took this moment to pick up a few observations about the dazed boy. One, he was small. He assumed it was from distance, seeing that he was in the front and the troll was literally all the way in the back. Two, he looked really fucking dirty. Okay, yes, Trolls had gray skin, but that wasn’t what he meant. It wasn’t exactly a feeling of dirt just clearly apparent on his skin rather that you could tell he was coated with layers of a lifetime of sadness just from looking. Three, he looked cold as shit and it wasn’t all that hard to draw conclusions from the sheer fabric of his worn, navy T-Shirt and the water dripping from his chin and mentionably thick locks of hair.

In short, he looked like you literally picked up a dirty rat and drowned him. Not that he intended to be offensive or anything. Actually, he felt sympathy for him. Tough luck, huh? Dave happened to be supremely apathetic for the unfortunate, whether it be someone having a bad day, a homeless person, or someone suffering in all general. He couldn’t put off the misery he found dwelled in just their posture, the expression that sat on an expressionless face. 

But now was different. Actually, the troll looked small enough to be a child, though his features carried something older in them. The longer he stared, the longer guilt welled in his chest. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d come to it, but he found himself pulling his sweater off hastily to give to him and striding towards the damsel in distress. He wouldn’t be bluffing if he was alarmed that the anonymous boy didn’t even look up.

Dave wondered what he was thinking about.

Well, he was here now. He paused for another moment, half expecting him to abandon the façade of ignorance and say something, but the troll just gazed off. What the hell. An awkward silence carried until he tugged on the smaller boys arm, raising a brow down at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Perfect intro, Strider. Dave was thankful he wore his shades, because he took a moment to close his eyes and relish in his failure before recollecting himself. Those ruby eyes opened to the sound of the boys voice instead, though. He was so lost in his thoughts that he forgot about the sweater in his hands.

“Don’t touch me, and what the fuck is it that YOU’RE doing?”

And it dawned on him that maybe he’d pissed him off with his snarky comment and silently fumed at himself. He swallowed hard and thanked his clothing attire once again, the scarf masking his nervous posture.

“You’ve been staring at me like a creep for at least ten minutes.” Dave raised his brows for emphasis, setting his stoic, fuckall face on like it was default. The troll seemed very indifferent to his expressionless jabs and Dave took notice of his eye narrow. That storm in his chest had darkened with thunder. Fuck.

“I was looking at.. The records. Clearly.” The troll retorted, and Dave almost laughed. He could see literally straight through the sheer piss-on-all act of the smaller boy, and it was amusing if anything. He already found it tempting to snicker at him, but he suppressed it and retained his gentle façade. Instead of making it totally obvious that he had intentions to befriend this anonymous person, he made a jab at concern.

“What happened?” Smooth. Just as smooth as his slide in to the leather-cushioned booth across from the troll. Apparently the boy hadn’t appreciated that, because he shot Dave a golden-eyed glare that made Dave feud on cowering away or breaking out in laughter. In the end, he responded, so Dave figured he’d gotten somewhere.

“Should I feel honored that a stranger just invited themselves to sit down with me and dig into my business or feel mortally disgusted? Because I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.”

Or not. Wow, color him shocked, but in comparison to what he’d expected, no, he got himself absolutely nowhere. He had parked his katoosh right in the nobody gives a shit square of fuckall trolls smack dab in the middle of library-no-wheres-ville, population him. Be fucking cool. That’s your vigor, your forte, being the best shit on this planet. You are a Strider and Strider’s don’t half-ass shit. Why? Because you don’t need unfinished business. You are Dave motherfucking Strider.

“Well I originally thought I would have to punch somebody and make a scene for creepin’ on me, but you’re a lot smaller than I originally thought and, correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you need a jacket.” And the Nobel Peace Prize for coolest shit on this planet goes to..

“Sure, I’m cold, but who isn’t? It’s pouring outside and I’m certain I wasn’t the only one who hauled my ass in here soaking with a pound or thousand of water, so why give the critique to me?”

… nOT DAVE FUCKING STRIDER THAT’S WHO. Get the hell out of there, he has denied your snarky-ass comments twice now and he does not want your classy, grade-A bullshit. Abscond, he does not want you here.

“Well if you were listening, I already mentioned that you were staring.. In my general direction. But,” he raised his hands indignantly. “If you want me to go that bad, I’ll leave.”

And with that top-dog-shit escape, he stood and swept out of the booth, swiftly ducking around a row of bookshelves.

He would admit that getting home would be cold. He’d left his sweater. Intentionally, of course.

Dave practically jumped out of his god damn skin when the phone in his pocket buzzed. He fished it out, dropped it once while picking up his umbrella, and eventually managed to answer the call while ducking out of the shop and opening his knight and shining armor of a coverage. It was his boyfriend. They’d been dating for two years now, and Dave was proud of it to say in the least. His love was adorable, and they fit together like pieces in a puzzle. Except, now was not the best of times. Dave was shivering in his shoes and the rain nipped at his skin like ice picks. A familiar, light-pitched voice drifted through the phone.

“Dave, are you coming home? It’s raining really hard and Dirk said you were out.”

It made his heart quiver with satisfaction that lifted the pooling of his mind that the other was concerned about him. He smiled to himself and turned his gaze up skyward, nodding despite the fact that no one would see the action. It was for himself only. As he strode, he took note of the fact that the rain was falling to a halt.

“I’ll be there in a minute, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry for existing but hey pepsicola another ship to burn down haha and since i just posted this, i update mondays hay


	3. Don't We Make What We Believe?

Who knew that sweating in a sweater made you smell like downright horse shit?

Because Karkat did. He smelled like a full four thousand acre plantation of cattle and the possible excess of a fleece market. Once again had the rain died down that the Sun went digging its incredulous nose into every bodies business, screeching orders from above like a cynical tyrant to sheath our umbrellas and tear off our jackets quicker than you could even fathom to saying no.

The Sun certainly did burn holes in Karkat now as he strode down the packed street. New York had repopulated itself as the Sun had come out, and this troll was more then thankful when he spun on his heel into an alleyway dimmed by the towering buildings above. It was his lab-rat shortcut when dwindling through the maze that got him back to the alleyway of the place he stayed.

His echoing steps fell to a regular patter as the alleyway opened into a wider clearing. The parking lot was visible if he looked to his left around the corner of the goodwill, and in front of him was a tumble of cardboard and garbage cans filled with clothes and broken items rather than thrown out wrappers and bottles like a regular household. After all, this was a clothes store for the most part. It made sense.

Instead of trailing around to his all-common pile of fuckall knows what, he did that extra mile of turning around the corner and stepping into the double doors of the shop. The Sun was lowering in the sky now, so only the occasional image of people milling around the shelves was visible. At the desk, Snowman raised her eyes to look at him and narrowed them only a second after. Eesh, cold.

"The others are in the back, you look filthy."

"... Thanks for the reminder. Again." He rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He enjoyed arguing with her, mostly because she was just as stubborn and grumpy and old and had just as many problems and things to bitch and moan about as Karkat, so the feuding never really ended until someone stepped in and told them to knock it off.

With the occasional weaving through the racks of clothing, he managed to open the back door and took a glance inside. Callie made a noise of surprise when his eyes rested on her and she smiled with her goofy green cheek-paint. Seriously, why did she do that?

"Oh, we were wonderin' where you were at." And bam, punched in the face like a bull slamming into questionable victims, a harsh English accent carried through. And what came with English came very well-masked Texan.

His eyes rested on Dirk and Jake. Jirke. He laughed for a moment at his own eating-two-humans-because-they-taste-like-dried-and-salted-meat before striding in and taking a seat at the left most end of the table. Callie sat on the left of him on the left side, obviously, and the other two boys took their seats on the right, Dirk closest and Jake beside the bespectacled boy. [another authors note: I fucking suck at explaining things sorry not sorry.]

"What's the occasion?" Dirk's voice piqued in and Karkat knew under those shades he was eying the sweater. It had been so long since he'd worn a sweater because they weren't that popular to throw away and he never could have bought one.

Instead of taking an average confession reply, he took defense route. Because he was Karkat motherfucking Vantas. "How about you mind your own business?" And he acquainted that stunning playoff with a dainty arch of his brow. Dirk rolled his eyes, and you knew because you had gotten so used to reading his body language and the features of his face as he did certain things. You simply rolled your eyes back.

However, Callie seemed insistent once she had noticed it was new too after Dirk pointed it out.

"It looks warm. And.. Really big. Oh, wait deary no, did you abandon us for a better Good Will? I-I can respect your preferences but.. I'm quite hurt, Karkat." She made a whimpering face, and he was quick to fess up. He had seriously caught on to the habit of keeping his mouth shut sometimes with Callie to spare for the few tears he could make her shed.

"That's seriously assuming things! No, I didn't leave for another good will. Fuck, there isn't even a good will a mile away from us. And hell no if you think I'm walking my scrawny underfed ass all the way to the next city to do a ratty germ hunt for sweaters in their trash cans if that's what you're thinking. Let me clarify, I have standards." His brows climbed to his hair line with his perplexing look, and Jake's laughter bubbled out. Karkat furrowed his sky-high brows and shot him a glare, the look itself asking 'what's so funny?'

Jake waved a hand, the one that wasn't occupied by holding his chest. "Good golly, friendo, you are quite the clown!" He offered a grin and let his laughter die down. "I simply can't help it. You are just so darn funny when you go off on your little schpeils like that."

"What's a sca.. Schapeel?" Callie chimed in and offered an interested expression. Dirk couldn't help but begin chuckling to himself as Jake took on to explaining English terminology. Karkat simply crossed his arms and leaned back, smiling to himself.

"Hey though, seriously, that sweater looks shockingly familiar." Dirk's muttered voice poked into Karkat's momentary peace. This time, his features looked shockingly interested, a feat that was, if anything, unusual for the bleach blonde.

"Some kid gave it to me." He shrugged, hopefully shrugging off the situation as well. Dirk simply nodded and went back to his own space, tapping on his phone and doing god knows what. Karkat sighed and leaned back in the metal chair, closing his eyes. He was tired. It had become a habit of sleeping constantly when he didn't have anything to do, because sleeping was easy and it passed time. At some point, he had begun sleeping at seven at night and waking at six, because in the night it was cold and bugs bit you. In the morning, it was nice and no one was around and he could take a walk or sit on the sidewalk and watch the Sun as it rose from the offset buildings in the distance. And honestly, he was just fine with the wave of darkness that followed with his eyes closed. Sleeping was nice.

• • •

It was so warm in this blanket. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten the blanket in the first place, but the smell of coffee and the muffled voices from customers outside did nothing to settle the sleepy daze tossed onto Karkat. It took him a moment longer to open his eyes, another to cringe against the light that came with it, and then a moment for him to adjust. The blanket around him was pink and covered in Kim Possible cartoons. It was also falling off down to his lap as he sat up and glanced around. The room was empty and the smell of coffee from before lingered into his nose, rewarding him with an inhale of refreshment for the morning. It was probably rude of him to fall asleep like that here, and he wondered for a moment if they'd flat out locked him inside with hopes that he wouldn't wake up and flip his shit, but the chances were low.

He tucked the blanket nicely onto the table after folding it and poked his head out into the shop itself. He identified Callie running the register and Dirk from the corner of his eye. He'd been so lost in picking out people here and there that he practically fucking fell over when a cheery voice sang from an alarmingly close distance. Instead of falling, though, he clung to the doorway and raised his brows in surprise.

"Good morning, lad! You hit the bucket right then and there on the chair. Are you okay?" An enthusiastic tone carried in his voice as his happy features melted to amusing concern. Karkat simply nodded and casted a glance back towards the staff room.

"Sorry about that..." And it was true, Karkat did feel a little guilty if anything. Surprisingly enough, Jake shook his head and his smile was back on his lips instantaneously. "It's fine. You looked peaceful when you slept and Callie insisted we let you stay. Got any cricks in your back?

Karkat shook his head and raised a hand, toying with the mess of hair on his head. "I'm fine. Thanks anyways. I need air, if anything." He made a face and stepped out of the staff room, closing the door behind him. His jeans were uncomfortable after a whole night of sleeping in them. He just wanted to walk, take a nice stroll in the pleasant morning. Maybe even say good morning to some people if he was feeling it. Actually, on second thought, he might just threaten to piss on someone's mailbox and storm off, should it come down do it.

Jake nodded in agreement and began on a walk. Clearly he assumed Karkat would follow him as he glanced back once in his first stride. "Feel free. I'll tell the others you're up." And then they parted where Karkat turned to the door and the English boy began chitter chatter with Callie. Their conversation seemed enthusiastic, he noted, as he strode out of the double doors.

It was brittle outside, crisp with early morning air and carrying a slight humidity in the breeze. To his fortune, the streets weren't as crowded as he'd imagined it and he set off in a stride down the sidewalk. From a distance, he could hear a sort of commotion, music it sounded, and he found himself trailing off towards a circle of people. It took a bit of pushing and shoving to actually get a glimpse of them before coming to the conclusion that it was street performers.

Karkat loved the things like these, how out of nowhere anything could just spring up. Kind of like the art on the sidewalks that showed great depictions of the road breaking off onto a waterfall, or a character appearing to be standing and things like that. It was enticing, to say in the least.

And now, the people dancing appeared to be a group of trolls. He identified a few girls and a handful of guys, all of which taking actions in synchronization. Karkat couldn't help but grin at them. Yeah. He couldn't help but grin and break out into a fit of eye narrowing and the twisting of his tongue, mostly because across from him in the circle of people cheering and video taping, a very familiar pair of aviators on a very familiar nose all atop a very familiar face stood, stoic as fucking ever.

And then Karkat also remembered that he still had this towering procrastinator's sweater.

Karkat had to give this guy his sweater back, and definitely fast, because the bastard-for-brains was turning and walking off, gazing downward at what Karkat couldn't exactly make out from the people around him shuffling. Soon enough he was gone, and just as soon as that had happened had Karkat shifted away and around the crowd, making way to the other side. His attention hooked on the blonde locks of boy like a fishing rod casted in the lips of a fish. The bespectacled boy was still gazing down at what the troll recognized now to be a camera. Was he taking pictures?

"Holy shit.. HEY!" Whaaaatt the hell. This guy was not slowing down for the life of him, and Karkat was fairly sure he wasn't going to see this kid again in his lasting days. Why? Because New York is crowded and big. On the contrary, it made his chances just the opposite, really fucking slim.

And so lost in his thoughts had he been about when he could actually get this guy was his feet moving ahead of his mind. Tumbling. Tumbling. Fuck. And he lunged forward, hands waving frantically outward in some sort of chicken-flock version of a way to balance himself. And then he was rocking back and forth like a teeter totter as his palms met the flat of something, and it took him a moment to clear the hair out of his eyes with an odd shake of his head to realize that he was practically pinning the kid against the building and his hands had met the flat of his chest.

Karkat noted that the blonde was muscular and toned, and he felt heat rushing to his cheeks from embarrassment. He could literally be arrested for sexual harassment right about now. "Sorry, shit, wow, I did not mean to sneak up on you like that, holy dicking hell." He sputtered it out without a second thought, mostly in frustrations of his own actions, and leaned away, wiping his hands on his jeans like the boy was poisonous.

He also noted that there was not a single sign of recognition from the boy above, and whether it was because of his abyssal frames or that he was just really not surprised about it, Karkat wasn't sure. It took a moment of dreading fear that he'd just walk away that the mysterious photographer responded. "It's cool."

Fucking hell.

How do you respond to that? He scrunched his features up and gave an audible sigh. Actually, Karkat hadn't planned even a single bit as of what he was supposed to do when he'd gotten down to it. What? Just rip the sweater off and go around shirtless? This was unfortunate, and for himself for the most part.

"I have your sweater." Clearly. "I-I can't give it back, uhm, because I'm wearing it.." He cleared his throat. It wasn't exactly like he had a choice, but he felt that same heat pooling on his face. He should just leave and apologize for the inconvenience. The blonde spoke up, gesturing to the clothing article.

"You can keep it if you need it." And then the boy too had cleared his throat. "I dunno if you're in anything or whatever, 'cause I'm pretty sure you'd take it off, but.." There was a shrug from his broad shoulders, and Karkat felt at ease for a moment knowing that he wasn't the only one completely lost on what to do. What remained was the guilt in his chest. He didn't want this fucking sweater, and he insisted.

"Really, I can just give it back.. Uh.. Tomorrow? Actually, that's stupid. I don't want to have to hunt your hipster ass down at some absurdly cliché coffee shop while whistling out commands to the idiots behind the counter. God, do you know how long it takes for them to make coffee? I swear to Hell's gate if I could even suggest to them what goes through my mind, they would find that I have little patience, a bad temper, and a handful of insults to hand out to every single one of those reeking java monkeys." His fluffy mess of a set of eyebrows had climbed up to his hairline as he spoke, enthusing on his features and applying great emphasis towards his hatred for coffee shops.

The still unidentified boys laughter filtered through his rant and only then had Karkat apprehended that, yeah, it definitely was a rant. The troll sheepishly fell silent and the expression dropped, but the tension melted when the boy offered a light nudge to Karkat's bony shoulder.

"Yeah, we could meet tomorrow. Not as- Not as anything particular, just.. Y'know. To give me my sweater," There was that same throat-clear from the taller boy. "And maybe hang out a little." And Karkat was surprised if anything. If the photographer was offering friendship, it was a little appalling in itself, but this troll was keen on taking it. And another appalling thing, he wasn't even sure why. He'd guessed that it was weighed by his previous actions and the fact that maybe having a friend to depend on didn't seem all that awful. Not that he didn't appreciate the people at the store, but god, he was dying to meet new people.

It was his guilty little pleasure that he denied to admit to anyone.

And with that, he nodded and, yes, they decided on a coffee shop with a sentence exchanged and that was that before Karkat was off. He stole a glance back at the boy before indulging himself into the crowd around the dancers of which had started on a new song, he noted. The blonde Mr. Unspecified hadn't glanced back once and- He fell short of his step as well as short of his thoughts to drop a loud curse that caused more than a few mothers to cast disapproving glances before he sent a hand through his hair and continued his walk, now feeling rather embarrassed again by the attention he'd caused.

Why? Because Karkat Vantas had no idea what that guys name was, and that kid had no idea that this troll was Karkat Vantas, so fuck that criss-cross backwards bullshit logic and his habit to forget something so important. He spent the haul back to the store in spite of his choices and was quite set off, not for the first time, by a tinkle of a bell to alarm the staff of a new customer.

And then it slammed into his ribcage like a fucking wrecking ball, smashing without a doubt every single one of his god damn coexisting ribs, and for a moment he pressed a hand to his chest and just absently wheezed. And yeah, once more than he'd have liked, the attention of others was dragged to him. It took a moment for him to regain himself and process what the hell just happened. God, his chest felt tight. How long had it been? Holy shit, he was going out to meet someone. He was becoming, if just a little, social. It sounded incredulous and tedious and ludicrous but all at once so mind blowing. And now that he re capped it, the whole morning seemed to blow by like leaves scrabbled up and clawing to the autumn wind like a ruthless beg for the seasons to stay. Fuck, he was so giddy and he didn't even know why.

And it felt like magic that a smile had blossomed onto his lips and a particular reason that he walked so slowly out of the shop. He didn't feel like speaking right now. He was too busy mulling over his new life-long achievement. No one had really found the time to speak to him, they all knew he was some rugged street rat. It wasn't unreasonable to assume people like him would just beg for money and complain, and oh god, someone to talk to without that immediate judgment, holy shit.

And so he was on his little odd pile of clothes and disarrayed garbage varying from everything under the Sun that he was twiddling with his fingers in a childish fashion when the day flew by and he was asleep at the darkening of the sky, all with that same lovely sentiment in his chest.

He'd never like to admit it, but he was relieved, so fucking relieved for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys im so fuckin sorry ok so like WAY LATER i realized that id uploaded the latest chapter before the one before it so 3 is actually 4 and 4 is actually 3??? yeah and its rlly late and idk how i hadnt realized it until now and im so darn diddly sorry pal oh my gosh but i havent even written this in forever bc i lack effort and IM A BIG G ASS PR OCRASTINAtOR !!! so i im sorry uh im just gonna-


	4. Baby Slut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat gets a new sweater. Dave gets a shirt. Huh.

Okay, so Dave Strider may or may not have been street lurking and he also may or may not have come in contact with a certain head of dark hair and persistent features and also may or may not have settled to meet up with them and jesus fuck, Dave had street lurked and had come in contact with that same kid and settled to meet up with him.

When his date with John had been interrupted by a phone call insisting that his cousins bakery had started a fire and, to Dave’s misfortune, was mandatory to head over to make sure everyone was alright, he was left to his own mischief, or..

Yeah, no, Dave wasn’t that kind of an idiot.

Instead, he had taken to lurking around the streets, camera in hand, snapping photos of the daily lives of others. The way children would mindlessly cry at the sight of another who would hold a conversation just as casual as any other to seemingly no one into a phone, the way concession stands and food sellers would wave their products and insist a purchase to by passers with just as persistent an interest at anything but them, was simply intriguing to this Strider.

With his attention drawn to a certain group of troll-dancers, one that he’d seen before on his occasional escapades around the city, he couldn’t deny the annual snap of the camera he’d always take. The crowd was lurching in fits of applauding, and studying the photo was difficult. Fucking New Yorkers.

He’d managed to escape the horde to actually regard the photo with a vigilant eye that he’d noticed a familiar face and then-

Yep, spine aching and that same small feature molesting the fuck out of his grill. He was tempted to tell the kid to get the hell off and/or call the police, but the option was dubbed an ill choice when a look of surprise at his own actions took over the trolls features. There was a delicate exchange of words, careful but set with meaning, before Dave was off. Quickly.

Yeah, he wanted to get his shit out of there ASAP. That kid was kind of terrifying in a way and he’d be glad to get the shirt back and be done with it promptly. He sent only a single glance backwards to catch the horns on his mass of hair before he vanished around that same crowd. Well, that or the building on the corner Dave had turned was blocking his view, but in any case, he and the boy were moving in opposite directions. This Strider had just about enough of the worlds shenanigans for today. 

Speaking of the day’s worth of tomfoolery, he’d yet to ring up his damsel in distress of his cake crisis. Wow, Dave, stop sounding like you’re from the 1900’s, jesus fuck. With snarky circa speech behind, he tapped in the same number, the one embedded into his memory from years of knowing this kid, and smiled to the dialing connection as a ring bubbled out from the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, John, I’m heading back. Want me to stop by the bakery? How’s the Crocker doin’?”

Dave could practically hear the laughter in John’s voice, and it hurt his heart. “Everything’s fine. Jane has to have an inspector come and poke around the place and she promised to take better care of the oven, but other than that, it’s alright. Feel free to drop by, though.”

“Sweet, and yes, pun intended.” And without making space for the other to respond, he hit the fuck you button and slid the phone into his pocket.

• • •  
A whine escaped his lips and, ow, he really should stop hitting his head on the counter. But then again, what better did he have to do? Snowman shot the teen a piercing glare with her vibrant emerald orbs before looking back to the customer. Apparently her gaze had not died down as the female had paled and her voice seemed lost when she just nodded to Snowman’s inquiring of her purchased item.

Karkat, on the other hand, was tired and upset. Like payment for staying outside like a dumpster diver, he was required to help out at the store on particularly popular days like this. Though it was like a job as weekly he would normally offer to help out, his payment was clothes and things in the like. Of course, it wasn’t like bribery, the whole “Work for us and we’ll give you living supplies!” ruse. No, it was more like “I’d love to have you help out, take this as our gratitude,” sort of situation.

Except now, Karkat was seriously not in the working mood. He was glad for a moment that he couldn’t be permanently hired here, otherwise he’d just die. At that thought, he laughed onto the counter and- Wheezed a little.

“Come on deary, we’ve got business to do. No means to push and shove, but the customers are staring.”

The troll had quickly identified Callie holding responsible for the harsh back pat, despite first assuming Jake, and leaned up from his recesses of agony. With a groan, Callie led him off towards the back, ushering with the task of hanging up recently shipped clothing articles.

Half way to the back, he fell to a stop. “That reminds me! This sounds seriously imposing and yeah, I know, what shitfactory did I come from, right? But I need to borrow a shirt.” With eyebrows raised, his gaze rested on the girls face.

“Oh, well of course, but.. Might I ask why?” Her own abnormally pallid brows furrowed together on her forehead, and Karkat resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t exactly want to explain the embarrassing situation he’d hauled himself into.

“Something happened to this sweater and.. yeah,” he gave a wave of his hands in a circular motion, suggesting to move on. “I just need a new shirt. You know what, let’s just say this one smells like reeking ass.” The teen frowned at himself, but whatever, works for now.

Callie seemed to take that as a reasonable answer and made a gesture to a certain clothing rack labeled by “teens.” Karkat nodded in thanks and, with a quick reminder to finish the task at hand, sauntered towards it.

Wow, fuck, these shirts were god awful. There was one that said ‘I Love Mayonnaise’ on it and one completely doused in the fruity pebbles pattern and jesus fuck he was mortified. Color him shocked, but one literally said baby slut on it and that got him retching. Literally, he had never seen such backwards bullshit logic in anyones two faced mind that would compel an idiot to buy such a thing, and he was gaping at it in silence when yet another hand practically broke his shoulder. 

This time, he was fairly sure who he would identify it as, because he only knew one person who worked out enough in such ridiculous portions to manage such annoying potency, that person being Dirk Strider, whose calm voice drifted into his revolted silence. Karkat could hear the amusement in it when he did.

“Suits you.” And Karkat was ready to bite fingers off. Instead, in spite of his urge to, he made a harsh jab of his elbow. Dirk being.. Well, Dirk, leaned away easily before returning to his previous standing position, rewarding an eye roll from the smaller teen.

“I’m not buying it. I just need a shirt to wear, and one that doesn’t point me out like a beacon in the night sky.” He continued flicking through the rack, and Dirk made a noise familiar to a snicker before lounging off to the opposite side. It didn’t take long for him to find another handful of awful clothing choices and the same for Dirk, of which they snickered at together with a fit of eyebrow waggling and snarky comments. Then, there was a noise of surprise from the blonde’s side.

“What, another ‘Bad Girls’ shirt?” Karkat raised his brows and stood on his tip toes in attempt to peer over. Of course, his 4’8 self got nowhere with that, and Dirk’s small poke of blonde hair was moving towards his side. When he poked around the corner of the rack, he raised a sweater laced over a hanger, this time waggling his brows more suggestively than jokingly.

Actually, it wasn’t that bad a sweater. It was blue definitely, adorned in small flowers of red in patterns along it, save for the ‘peter pan’ collar around the neck. Compared to the other things he’d seen, he was almost glad to find something like that, and took it from the Strider immediately with a satisfied grin. “Flowers are better than Fuck-Butt, at least. Thanks.”

Dirk gave him a little nudge on his arm before grabbing a shirt for himself and striding off. No idea why he wanted a shirt, but whatever floated his boat. The teen shrugged and strode off to the dressing room, tossing it on. Wow, he didn’t look bad.

• • •  
Dirk Strider was done with being a workhorse and he’d practically thrown himself into the apartment before groaning for aid to actually walk, and that aid came in little time with a snap of comments and ranting as he went down the stairs. That aid was his little bro, Dave. Dave-Stri. Dave Strider. Strider. Lil’ Man. Whatever the fuck Dirk happened to spur up to call the kid, maybe.

“Work tough?” A hand met Dirk’s, and with a groan of exhaustion, he was pulled up onto his feet. Dave simply raised a brow, frowning at him. Dirk simply rolled his shoulders and shrugged afterwards. “No, I’m just hella lethargic.” He made an expression of pity inwardly before striding to the kitchen. Yep, it was sugar bomb time. He had work to do still.

“Heads up, John’s here, so don’t make too much noise in the garage.” He turned and was heading up the stairs in little time. 

“Oh, hey, wait.” Dave glanced back at Dirk’s words, brows arched again. Dirk made a gesture to the bag he’d abandoned as he plunged in, urging the younger Strider to take it. That was what Dave did, heading back down the stairs like he had before taking hold of the bag. There was a snort of laughter before he pulled the shirt out, grinning at the letters bold on the front in white text:

BABY SLUT.

And that had the two Strider’s snickering at each other before Dave rolled his eyes, frames off, thanking the other and heading up the stairs same as he had before. Moments later, he heard that same laughter from his brother and the bespectacled boyfriend of him. With that lighter feeling in his chest, he made a turn around the kitchen and to the door leading into the garage, his work space.

Music on and placed over his ears, loud enough to drown out any other noise, he began tinkering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BABY SLUT OOOOo btw this is the sweater karkat got
> 
> https://www.etsy.com/listing/232219434/vintage-tulip-print-peter-pan-collar?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=Peter%20pan%20collar%20sweater&ref=sr_gallery_1

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm the author who gives really fucking useless notes before you read the actual story thats me hey guys im the useless author-" -Useless Author 2k15


End file.
